


New Resolution

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little New Years-themed J/B smutfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written first, but occurs after the events of "Mistletoe and Holly," so read in whatever order you choose.
> 
> This is a "smutfic," but it was my first, so it took me a while to work up to it. The majority is PG.
>
>> Made possible by a Pandora station tuned to Jackie Gleason and a single bottle of Dubonnet. Good things for setting the mood, if you're in want of a little ambience.
>> 
>> And I will just mention that this was mostly scrawled out over two nights, plus the cringing revision I'm doing on the last chapters. I wanted to write a smut fic for reasons mentioned above, but smut didn't have a place in any of the stories I'd been kicking around, so I wrote this one quickly, and it's just one big contrivance. New Year's Eve, of all contrived things! Forgive me for that. I don't think you'll mind altogether. :)

Julia placed the simple pearl earrings in each lobe, the finishing touch, and regarded herself judiciously in her bedroom mirror. Not too bad. Not exactly great, either. She smoothed her hands over her hair nervously to assure herself every strand was firmly in place and would stay so. Her hair was fine. Her makeup was fine. Her dress, selected after an unusual amount of fuss, was more than fine, and she did not look terrible in it, either. After more fruitless shopping trips than she cared to confess, Carolyn had at last accompanied her and found it, pointing out all its good qualities and actually making her believe them: the simple cornflower blue silk chiffon gown set off her coloring nicely; the sash at the waist accentuated her trim figure; sleeveless, it showed off her naturally toned arms, while the sheer loose layer of fabric draped around the top of the dress made her feel a little less exposed; the high jewel neckline downplayed her modest chest, which suddenly seemed to concern her; but it fit what curves she had nicely, and actually did make her feel a bit feminine. 

She stood and took in the entire effect of the dress, and herself in it. She had to admit it: she looked lovely. It wasn’t the dress, or her body, or her face that was detracting from it, only her attitude, this strange reticence and apprehensiveness she couldn’t quite shake. That was bringing down her features, her posture, her very presence. She straightened herself purposefully, smiled. There. There. Her smile deepened; she began to mean it. 

This girlishness, this nervousness, wasn’t a bit like her. But little about this night felt customary. She could count on one hand the number of invitations she had accepted in her adult life that had required her to attend in formal evening attire, but she could hardly refuse Elizabeth’s New Year’s fete held in the very manor she lived in. And she didn’t need more than a single finger to count the number of times Barnabas Collins had asked her to accompany him to such an affair as his date. Now her smile broadened into a grin, but she turned away from her reflection, embarrassed. Had he actually used the word date, or anything like it? No, she searched her memory; she knew he hadn’t. And the moment he proposed it, he had backpedaled furiously, probably seeing or sensing some spark of excitement she thought she had well under control. Only because you and I will both be there anyhow, he rushed to assure her, and because neither of us has anyone else to attend with. Good old Barnabas. He did know how to make a woman feel dear and desired. Well, he did: she had seen it, many times. He just didn’t with her.

It was all just as well. She sighed without resentment. She understood her place in Barnabas’ life, and she was happy with it. And she was dear to him: his dearest friend. That was far from nothing. She would not have stayed on this way so long for nothing. She wasn’t fooling herself. This party, this dress, this holiday which had always seemed to her quite romantic, none of it would change anything. But she would enjoy it all for what it was. Julia Hoffman was, at her core, both a realist and an optimist. She knew what she could have, and she would make the most of it.

She checked the clock on her mantel: at few minutes after eight. She had better get on with it. The first guests would be arriving. Barnabas, the perfect gentleman, ever-punctual, was certainly there already. As they had planned, he would meet her downstairs. There was absolutely nothing romantic in that. With one last glance in the mirror, one more forced smile to reassure herself, and on second thought a dismissive wave to put it all out of her mind, she was off.

She walked down the corridor slowly but deliberately. She could already hear the sounds of a light jazz piano tune from downstairs. She paused for a moment, listening. What was it? Peter Nero. She smiled again, easily. She and Liz and such similar tastes. That put her at ease. She reached the staircase, and descended slowly, examining the growing crowd for a face she could latch onto--if not Barnabas, then another of the family or an acquaintance she knew that she could fall into conversation with until she began to feel more herself. 

Halfway down the stairs, she could see into the drawing room, to where Roger had installed the punch bowl and an open bar. Roger, naturally, was glued to the spot, happy to play bartender for the moment, and she saw Barnabas at his side, a dark and uncomfortable look on his face. It almost cheered her to see him feeling just as obviously out of place as she did. He clutched his cup of punch tightly, never dropping it far from his lips. He cast his gaze at the staircase, quickly, unexpectantly, as if he had been doing so and finding nothing repeatedly for some time. 

This time, his eyes fell upon her. He smiled briefly, but his dark look didn’t really seem to fade. He turned away for a moment, saying something to Roger, and knocking back the rest of his drink. She didn’t know when she had ever seen him more than sip a drink if he accepted one at all, and couldn’t help but laugh to herself at the sight. He must really be uncomfortable in this crowd.

He set down his cup, and turned to approach her. After first meeting her eye, he didn’t seem quite able to look at her squarely again. She waited at the last stair for him. The distance from the drawing room entry way to the stairs was only a few feet, but it seemed to take him an eternity to cross it. She found she was holding her breath. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She felt so foolish, standing there, feeling one thing, trying--and she was so well-practiced at it--to project quite another. Barnabas, look at me, walk faster, anything, this is torture…

He was at her side in moments. He returned her gaze finally, looking up at her--from the last step, she was just slightly above eye level to him--with his dark, impenetrable eyes. She fell into them so easily. He unnerved her, and yet nothing felt more natural than being here with him now. She felt perfectly at ease. Her hands knew what to do, finding his proffered arm. Her eyes knew what to do, seeing only him. And her mind knew what to do, having played out this game so many times before.

He asked, an enigmatic twitch at the corner of his mouth, “Shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

As he led her into the drawing room wordlessly, her mind was otherwise occupied. While she was aware of herself saying hello as she passed people and nodding her acknowledgement as she met others’ eyes across the room, she was not engaged in any of it. She was shamelessly reveling in being the woman on Barnabas’ arm, oh, forget that it meant nothing really; she would enjoy it for all it was worth. Starved so long of more meaningful gestures, these little moments did more than she liked to admit for her. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her when he folded her arm under his and smiled at her. That was all it took: his taking her arm like any average gentleman would do. Often it required much less than that. Could he really not tell what his merest touch did to her? Could their friendship have gone on if he knew the thoughts that crept into her mind, bidden or not, every time they were together?

He must know--on some level, he must. Long ago she had confessed her feelings to him--and for her, she felt she had all but thrown herself at him. She remembered it as being so obvious, so humiliating; he could hardly have forgotten. They had both changed since then, of course, but her feelings had not, and though she voiced it less she was sure she showed it more, in little touches, little gestures--surely he knew what it meant, and he permitted it, but encouraged no more. He trusted her to not cross that line, and she would not. She had contented herself with what little of him she could have.

And she had been content lately--it had been a very long time since he had shown an interest in another woman. Barnabas who was always in love had for well over a year appeared not to be. Was he really so heartbroken over Angelique that he couldn’t bear the thought of another? But that thought struck her as absurd. He had gotten over her directly she was out of his life, just like all the others. He could have been trying to spare her feelings by not mentioning it, but Barnabas never did that. 

No, it seemed, she comforted herself, that the one constant in his life, indeed in his affections, was her. He relied on her utterly. He could be quite tender with her, and then again quite cold. He seemed to enjoy the time they spent together--now with no dire threats for so long, with no real excuse to be together, he sought her out just as much as he always had, now for conversation, for walks, just to sit silently by his fire. What they were to each other… she had given up trying to explain it to herself, or caring about what others assumed. She had, for all outward appearances, his whole attention, and in reality, every part of him--every part except one.

She still wanted him--god did she want him--but she had quite convinced herself he would never see her that way. She was well resigned to it--she was almost, but not quite, at peace with it. Perhaps she ought to have left a long time ago, but now it was much too late. She could not imagine wanting another man now. She would take her quiet, platonic evenings with Barnabas, and the occasional touch of his hand on her arm, over anything else another could offer her. It had been so long anyhow--so what if that part of her life were over? There were other, different pleasures in what she and Barnabas did share. And besides, she had a fine imagination; she could take care of herself. 

Her imagination… She smiled involuntarily and bit her lip to keep it from spreading suspiciously across her face. Even so, he noticed, and returned it, a questioning look in his eyes. Let him wonder. He didn’t want to know, and he didn’t need to know. He had renounced the right to that area of her mental landscape--but oh, he could have a window to it any time he liked… But she had by now, she thought, imagined him in every possible situation, inclination, and position (her grip on his forearm tensed just slightly); she was hard-pressed to think how he could surprise her now. From that angle, perhaps it was better, to never have the real thing. Perhaps she had built it all up so much that he could in reality only disappoint her.

She had--having considered everything--decided he might after all be at a loss to please a woman like her, anyhow. She supposed he had had a decent slate of past lovers, more perhaps than she knew, but she knew enough to judge that they all would have fallen into two clear categories: the sweet, pure, dim young girls that would have simply lain there if he had had them at all; he would have touched them so reverently, afraid to break them. And then there were the Angeliques--she considered it possible he had shared some wild and fulfilling passion with these women, whose lower station would have allowed him to do as he wished and enjoy more wanton pleasures than she could in honesty imagine herself indulging in--but it seemed more likely that the young Barnabas, certainly frustrated to the breaking point by the restrictions of his time, had simply used them for a quick fuck, nothing more. She suspected Angelique had been obsessed with him not because anything cosmic had passed between them, not sexually and certainly not emotionally, but because she was equally repressed and disturbed by the time she lived in--and driven a bit mad by it.

No, she often thought with some satisfaction, Barnabas would not quite know what to do with a woman like her. But what did a woman like her want? It had been so long she was not quite sure she knew. And, she thought, none of the men she had been with had quite managed to provide a template. She did, yes, she admitted it to herself secretly, she did want to remember and find out anew with the man who was now so casually leading her into the drawing room at Collinwood, past a sea of faces she knew and half-knew, smiling at them graciously and leaving them little suspecting what racy scenes her errant mind was conjuring as she walked by, appearing for all the world placid, certain, and completely in control. 

“Julia?”

She half-heard the other woman’s voice, but the pressure of Barnabas’ hand on her own brought her fully back into reality. 

“Julia, did you hear me at all? Are you feeling all right?”


	3. Chapter 3

Julia looked down and laughed, dropping Barnabas’ arm and taking both of Elizabeth’s hands in her own. “I feel fine; I was just distracted by this beautiful party and all the fun everyone seems to be having!”

“It is nice, isn’t it, to have so many lively people in the house for a change?” Elizabeth smiled broadly. “I know, I didn’t feel that way about it for a long time, but at last it seems we have so much to celebrate, and so little to hide.”

“Yes--it’s wonderful to be a part of that. Thank you, for letting me be.” Julia knew well what her friend meant, but wished she could say the same for herself. Still, it was enough to see the people she had come to regard as an adopted family so happy and settled at last.

“Julia, you are absolutely a part of it--I hope you know that. And,” she said, her eyes brightening, adopting that tone of hers that was at once highly suggestive and yet unimpeachably tactful, “I hope this new year brings you as much to celebrate personally as the last did for many of us.” Her gaze darting from Barnabas to Julia left little question as to her meaning.

“Yes,” Barnabas joined in, spiritedly, “I hope it will, Dr. Hoffman.”

Julia tried to mask her instinctive scowl as a wry smile. Why did he persist in these formalities in front of his family, even now? And was he being cruel, or impossibly dense? Was he teasing her, or could he really not understand? She pulled away from him a little, a small act of self-preservation.

“Well,” she said quietly, “everything is so nice and secure, just the way things are, finally. I don’t think I dare ask for more.”

Barnabas cleared his throat, seemingly irritated, his manner having turned suddenly cold. “Why don’t I get both of us a drink? Punch, Julia?”

“Sure,” she said, confused and a little disconcerted by the sudden change in him.

“No need!” Roger wandered into their small circle, holding three glasses, two precariously in one hand which he distributed to Barnabas and Julia; the third he raised to his own lips.

“Well, at any rate, I think I had better say hello to some other guests. If you will please excuse me.” Barnabas was off before receiving the formality of an excuse, and without so much as a glance at Julia.

Not missing a beat, unwilling to let on that his actions stung her, she closed ranks with the other two and smiled, tasting the punch, and murmuring her approval. “Thanks, Roger. Happy new year.”

Liz cocked an ironic eyebrow at her brother. “I didn’t think we’d get you away from that punch bowl this evening.”

“Making sure our guests stay well-lubricated is all part of the job!” he defended himself amiably. “What’s wrong with that one, anyway?”

“Barnabas?” Julia laughed. “He seems like his usual self to me.”

“Moody as hell?” Roger ventured. “Yes, but much worse than usual. Well, alcohol will do that to a man. That’s what I’ve always found: however I set out feeling, one drink will only amplify that feeling considerably. And Barnabas has had considerably more than one drink.”

“Roger!” Elizabeth rebuked him.

“I’m only stating facts, Liz, and only between family. And as-good-as-family,” Roger added, twisting his mouth into a meaningful smile at Julia. 

Ignoring that--why couldn’t they all just leave her alone about it?--she asked, “Why do you say that? How many has he had?”

“He’s on his third. And he’s been here, oh, all of forty-five minutes.”

Julia took another sip of the punch. “This is pretty strong, too.”

“I made it myself, my dear; you can rest assured it is strong,” Roger grinned at her.

“I’ve never known Barnabas to be much of a drinker,” Elizabeth mused, in spite of herself. 

“He’s not,” Julia agreed. “I don’t know what’s come over him.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So, how’s the big date going?”

A smirking Carolyn approached Julia, who had wearily retreated to a quiet corner of the room to observe the scene, tired of small talk and niceties. “Oh, Carolyn, please don’t call it that,” she moaned, meaning it, but in good humor, flashing the younger woman a rueful smile.

“I won’t call it that, if you like, but that’s what it’s meant to be, isn’t it?”

“You know as well as I do that it isn’t.”

“I know better than either of you do that it is!” she laughed.

“A whole lot of good that does us, if that’s the case.” Her smile faded, and she looked away. “Really, Carolyn, I wish you’d stop encouraging me. You’re sweet, but I don’t think it’s helping.”

Carolyn didn’t argue with her, but plowed ahead undaunted. “Where is Barnabas, anyway?”

“Oh! Who knows?” She shrugged hopelessly. “I haven’t seen him in almost an hour. For all I know, he left.”

“No, he would never do that without telling you.”

“You’re right, he is at least a gentleman. Always a damned gentleman.” She scowled, but immediately hated herself for wallowing this way. She was taking advantage of Carolyn just because she was the only person who knew, more or less explicitly, the extent of her feelings for Barnabas.

“Do you want me to find him? Talk to him?”

“No, no,” Julia waved away her offer and adopted an unconvincing smile. “Forget about that. I want you to enjoy your first New Year’s with your husband, and stop worrying about my silly mess.”

Carolyn looked at Julia squarely, trying to transfer some of her resolve to her friend through mere eye contact. “Nothing can stop me from enjoying tonight. And you are not silly. You’ll both see, sooner or later.”

“Julia is many things,” that familiar baritone invaded their conversation, sending a shiver of pleasure up her spine. “But I quite agree, Carolyn. She is never silly.”

Julia was embarrassed, and could only think to hide it by snapping at him, “So it’s Julia again, then?”

Looking truly mystified, he could only wonder, “What?”

Trying to break the tension, Carolyn stepped between the two, laying a playful hand on each of their arms. “Well, I’m glad I could reunite you two. I’d better see what my own man is up to. I’ll see you two later!” With a self-satisfied smile, she left them alone.

“What have you been up to?” she asked, hoping her question sounded casually interested, not accusatory.

“Oh, I’ve been mingling, catching up with everyone.”

Julia raised one skeptical eyebrow, which made him laugh.

“So I’m not a natural mingler,” he allowed, with a wry smile. “Stokes cornered me for a good long while, trying to interest me in some new intrigue of his.”

“Oh? What now?”

“I don’t know; I wasn’t interested.” Barnabas laughed again. His high spirits seemed to have returned. “You know, I think he rather resents us. For always expecting him to help us, when we rarely return the favor.”

“Perhaps he does,” she mused, settling back comfortably against the wall, happy to have Barnabas at her side again. “But I’m sure he understands. You’ve had quite enough intrigue for one lifetime.”

“Or more.” He stared off into the crowd pensively, sipping his punch again.

After a long moment, she asked with some concern, “How many of those have you had, Barnabas?”

“Oh, who knows,” he grumbled. “A lot of good they do me.”

“What does that mean?” She laughed involuntarily, and almost instantly regretted it. His scowl deepened. “Barnabas…” She reached for the jacket cuff of his closer hand and tugged at it gently. “What’s going on with you tonight?”

He turned to her, miserably, a look she recognized unmistakably as self-loathing in his eyes. “Julia… Don’t you know?”

She shook her head slowly. She didn’t understand at all. 

“Everyone! May I have everyone’s attention please!” Roger was standing in the center of the room, tapping his glass with a cocktail fork. Elizabeth was at his side, beaming.

Surprised, Barnabas stumbled forward a bit, almost knocking into Julia, but just missing her. Withdrawing the hand that held his drink, he said sadly, “Oh, your pretty dress! I almost ruined your pretty dress!”

She bristled at that; after all this time she bristled, even though she knew he was a master of turning an innocuous remark into a cutting phrase laced with condescension, even when perfectly sober. Suddenly she wasn’t really in the mood for it, with him clearly drunk.

“Shh!” she scolded him, sublimating a desire to shove him well away from her. “Roger’s making an announcement.”

“Everyone, friends, family, I wanted to take this moment to make a very happy announcement. Please, no one be offended that you didn’t hear it from one of us personally. We’ve managed to keep a tightly wrapped secret for once. No one here knows, except myself, Elizabeth, and of course, the two people it concerns principally. Kitten, would you come up here and tell everyone the good news?”

Carolyn, pretending to be dying of embarrassment, but clearly enjoying the moment, took a few steps forward to join her mother and uncle. “Well, I wanted to share this with everyone, but it’s mortifying being up here like this, so I’ll just say it. I’m going to have a baby!”

The room erupted in cheers and hugs as this latest long-awaited bit of good news from the Collins family sunk in. Julia, truly happy for her, clapped and mouthed ‘Congratulations’ across the room when she caught the young woman’s eye, but unaccountably she felt tears rise and sting at her eyes. They were not altogether tears of vicarious joy.

Barnabas, noticing this, moved closer, “Julia,” he slurred, one hand tentatively reaching out for her waist. She jerked away from his touch. “Julia?” He stumbled again, reaching for her, not understanding.

She scarcely understood herself. “Barnabas, you’re drunk. Get it together,” she spat, walking away from him in a sudden temper.


	5. Chapter 5

It was New Year’s Eve in Collinsport, Maine, an hour to midnight, but stupidly, stubbornly, Julia grabbed her coat and made for the terrace, because she couldn’t very well leave, and it was the only place she could go to be alone. She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself. It was a fairly mild night, really; she shivered not so much from the cold, and certainly she did not shiver with the unwarranted pleasure she had earlier that night, but from something new. A new feeling akin to utter desolation. Why did the simplest word or gesture from Barnabas send her into an extreme of joy or pain? She was showing it more and more, too, she knew, losing her well-honed ability to hide her feelings under a mask of friendly concern and stoic indifference. Barnabas may have been drunk, but he had hardly said or done anything. She noted that it was she who probably needed to get it together.

These idle fantasies of hers weren’t helping matters, but even now she could not stop herself from imagining Barnabas finding her out here, guiding her to a darker corner, and after making his obligatory but thorough explanations, taking her into his arms, just holding her at first, holding her long and tight to warm them both. His kisses would start softly, perhaps she wouldn’t even realize what he was doing until it was already too late, first buried in her hair, then at her temples, her earlobe, her neck, her nose, slowly, unhurriedly making his way to her lips. She would attack him hungrily, but he would hold back, teasing her, applying only the lightest pressure, and every time she would demand more he would pull back, compelling her to savor every sensation their mingled mouths could provide and feel, and only when he was sure she understood would he venture to allow his tongue to slide into her mouth--

“Julia! What in the devil’s name are you doing out here?”

She tried to hide her disappointment at hearing the booming voice of Elliot Stokes interrupt her thoughts. But she needed interrupting. She ought to be grateful.

She smiled weakly. “Hello, stranger. Happy new year.”

“Not a stranger by my choice,” he accused her, but his voice was gentle. “I won’t even begin to tell you what I tried to tell Barnabas earlier. He was singularly uninterested. That is a reaction I no more want to encourage than I am accustomed to finding.”

“Perhaps another time. We should have you over for tea sometime.”

He raised an eyebrow significantly. “Have me over for tea, indeed.”

“What does that mean? You’re going to hurt my feelings if you go on implying our friendship doesn’t mean very much to me.”

“That is not what I meant by my remark at all. What I meant was, you say ‘have you over for tea’ like running the social calendar at the Old House was part of your avowed duties. You say it like one half of an old married couple.”

“Oh, Elliot!” she growled, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. 

“Forgive me. I cannot help my simple observations. I wonder; perhaps you will be more interested in what Barnabas had to tell me than in what I had to tell Barnabas.”

“What are you talking about?” She was quite weary of the way everyone’s conversation seemed to circle back to an intimation, whether subtle or careless, that they knew the score between her and Barnabas. Plainly, they did not. All right, she had become far too obvious about her own feelings, and she would put an end to that. There: there was her new year’s resolution at last. But she alone hardly gave them reason enough to needle her with the suggestion that a fully bloomed romance was afoot. Didn’t they see how cruel that was? But the worse thought was--if they said all this to her, what were they saying to Barnabas? Oh, no wonder he was acting so strangely, if everyone was pulling him aside and implying what a fool she still was over him. Of course he was dithering about with her; he scarcely knew how to talk to her now.

“Julia, you look panicked. You needn’t be. Truth be told, I’m exaggerating. He did not tell me anything. He only told me he needed to tell you something, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.”

“He said that?” Whatever that something was, it hardly seemed like Barnabas to confess even that much, even to a friend.

“I might mention he was quite inebriated when we spoke.”

“He’s worse now,” she grimaced.

“I sense that I’m failing to cheer you up out here, Julia,” he said gently. “Will you come back in with me, and let me try again by the fire?”

“No, but thanks,” she flashed him a quick but genuine smile. “I do appreciate it.”

“Don’t stay out here long. It’s nearly midnight. At least don’t stay out here on Barnabas’ account,” he chuckled, then left her alone again.

He was right, she knew: it wasn’t worth it. She wouldn’t let her thoughts stray so. She would learn to get a grip on herself when they were together. Perhaps she would restructure her life so they began to spend less time together. Yes, perhaps it was finally time to give it up…

Inside, she heard Roger with his glass and fork again. “Everyone! Ten minutes to midnight! Find your partner and keep her close; you don’t want to miss the first kiss of the new year!”

She shivered again. Alone, alone for another year. The voices inside Collinwood resumed their muffled hum. She could perhaps go upstairs now. No one inside had really missed her, as long as she had been out here. They went along their merry way, and everyone had so much to be happy about. She hadn’t intended to fall into such a foul mood, but at this point she doubted she could recover her spirits enough to rejoin the crowd. She didn’t have spirit enough to even fake it.

All at once she was jarred out of her self-pity by another voice inside, shouting without shame, in almost laughable distress, “WHERE’S JULIA?”


	6. Chapter 6

He was still close enough to the door that Julia could hear Stokes tell Barnabas she was out on the terrace. Some friend. She took a few steps away from the door, hugging her arms around herself, trying to steel herself for what was coming. 

“Julia,” he breathed in palpable relief, almost panting, “I was looking everywhere for you.”

“Were you? Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“All right, Barnabas. Go ahead.”

He approached her slowly, as if terrified to provoke her with any sudden movements. He stopped quite close to her side, but did not presume to touch her, or force her to look at him.

“It’s terribly cold out here,” he ventured.

“It’s not so bad, if you have a coat,” she said evenly.

“True. I don’t.” 

“Barnabas--“ she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, at the absurdity and futility of it all. “Say what you want to say, and then you can go back in sooner.”

He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, either afraid of her unexpected wrath, or afraid to reveal how drunk he still was. He stalled for time again. “You look lovely tonight, Julia.”

She was flustered by this, but tried to maintain her control over the situation. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“I should have told you when I first saw you, but I was just so--surprised.”

“Surprised?” If she could have found the energy, she would have walked away in offense again.

“I don’t mean surprised because I didn’t think you would. You’re a beautiful woman, Julia. You often look lovely. But you took my breath away tonight.”

She turned to look at him sharply. But her gaze softened when she saw the look in his eye, a look she did not fully understand. He had never turned it on her before. “What are you doing, Barnabas?”

“Oh, Julia, Julia…” He clasped her arms in each of his hands, squeezing just a little too hard for comfort. Plainly, he was still drunk. He couldn’t really be trying to say what he seemed to be… and if he was, how much of it was the punch talking?

“Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked, breathlessly, in spite of herself. She still wanted to believe it was possible. God help her; she always would.

“Yes,” he said earnestly.

“You’ve never seemed to have a problem with this sort of declaration before.”

“The stakes were never so high before.”

“Barnabas…” she tried to pull away; the intensity of his gaze was too much to bear, and she still wasn’t sure if she understood or trusted him. He was much too close now to not be sure. 

“I want to be with you at midnight,” he said hoarsely, speaking quickly now, perhaps sensing the precariousness of the moment. “I don’t want to kiss anyone but you.”

“Barnabas, you’re drunk. You’re being a fool. Everyone will see us.”

“That’s exactly what I want--so I cannot lose my nerve tomorrow…”

“You absolute idiot,” she spat, positively shaking with rage.

“What? Julia?” He was truly baffled--and concerned, actually concerned for her now, through his drunken blindness, goddamn him.

“If you can’t stand the thought of being with me in your right mind, you’re sure as hell not going to be with me now.”


	7. Chapter 7

She broke free of his grasp with one determined, furious movement and was halfway to the door before he could react. He lunged for her wrist, and misjudged the space, stumbling, calling after her, “Julia--!” She was gone, through the door, stalking through the drawing room, intending to be out the door and in her car before he could catch up with her. Where she would go, she did not know or care. Away from him was all that mattered, and away from everyone who made her hope he could mean any of this, everyone who had put this little fancy into his addled, drunk mind…

The crowd slowed her down. Everyone was gathered in the drawing room now, awaiting the start of the countdown to the stroke of midnight. Barnabas caught up with her quickly.

“Julia, please…”

He spun her around to face him. She was helpless to resist, but she refused to look at him.

Ten, nine…

“I know I’m a fool, I have been all along. I’m in my right mind, Julia. I feel this way every minute of every day. I just don’t always have the courage.”

Eight, seven…

She still could not look at him, but she did not try to pull away from his tightening grip on her shoulders. She knew he had to do better than this. She deserved better than this, after all this time.

Six, five…

“Please, look at me.”

She shook her head, looked down. 

Four, three…

“Can it be that you are just as afraid as I am?” He lifted her head gently. She did not resist.

Two, one… 

She could not resist him. After all this time, wanting him, waiting for him, hating herself for it, she would still accept any part of him he was willing to give to her, be with him in any way he would allow. Perhaps they would both regret this in the morning--it would change everything between them, or they would wordlessly go back to being friends--but much as her mind screamed at her to stop this, stop before they ruined everything, stop before she humiliated herself, her heart was always open to him. It knew no other way.

Finally she looked him squarely in the eye. Somehow, despite it all, she trusted what she saw there. She trusted him even if he couldn’t say all the right words, or do all the right things. She saw plainly enough the truth of his feelings for her.

As the room erupted in cheers of “Happy New Year!” and hugged and kissed and blew noisemakers, Julia and Barnabas were in a world of their own, in the seconds that seemed like an eternity each cautiously reached for the other, for once silently agreeing to meet halfway, to not leave the other stranded and alone, to take this terrifying leap of faith together. He released his vise grip on her shoulders, encircling her back with both arms. She followed suit, gently caressing his back as she had dreamed of innumerable times. Their lips met, chastely at first; then she opened her mouth to him, felt his tongue pass across her lips--

All at once it was over. They were still in the drawing room of Collinwood. Those around them jostled them apart, wished them a happy new year, embraced them and pulled them further away from one another. As terrible as it made her feel, Julia tried with great concentration to avoid making eye contact with anyone; she couldn’t take the reaction of any of them now, Elizabeth, Roger, Carolyn, Elliot. They had been so supportive, and perhaps now they had been proved right, but she could only think of Barnabas. She found him and clutched at his sleeve. Perhaps no one had seen them, or thought anything of it. She didn’t want to wait around to find out.

He found a square foot of unoccupied floor space and pulled her close to him again. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.

“Barnabas…” She felt weak all over; she had not quite regained her natural breath pattern.

“We can’t really go to your room, can we?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s too obvious now; too many people--“

“Then come back with me to the Old House. I need to be alone with you.”

A thrill shot straight through her core at this statement. Still she worried, “Everyone will think--“

His voice was low and husky in her ear. “Let them. Do you really care?”

“No,” she shook her head forcefully, smiling at him without holding any part of herself back, and saw the same smile reflected back at her.

“Come on,” he whispered, “Let’s go.”


	8. Chapter 8

The walk back to the Old House was excruciatingly long and awkward, complicated by her high heels, his increasingly obvious intoxication, the light but building snow along their path, and their inability to keep their hands off one another. More than once they paused to remember the feeling of their lips joining, exploring further each time, each time feeling like the first time, a novel and surprising sensation, one often guessed at but never quite so fully imagined in their long years of friendship. 

“Barnabas,” she breathed into his neck, resisting every instinct in her body to pull away from him, “we’ve got to keep moving or we’ll never make it back.”

He emitted some painful-sounding hybrid of laugh and groan, saying, “I know, but oh god, Julia, if it weren’t the dead of winter I’d have you on the ground or against a tree right now.”

She moaned back into his mouth, losing all resolve to continue on their trek. “But if it were any other day,” she struggled to say between kisses, “this may never have happened.”

“This should have happened so long ago… any day…”

“You won’t get an argument from me there. But I’m glad we’re here now.” She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length. “Hands to yourself, now, Collins. Let’s go. You sure as hell waited long enough; you can wait ten more minutes.”

“Somehow I’ll manage,” he smiled at her sideways as they began trudging down the path again. He took one hand in his, tightly entwining their fingers. She returned the gesture with a squeeze, at the same time giving him a warning glance. “That’s all,” he grinned back, “I swear.”

They walked in silence for long moments, concentrating on the path, knowing their focus was too easily diverted at the slightest provocation. Finally, Barnabas ventured, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night, didn’t you notice?”

“You were barely with me at all!” she exclaimed in what would have been exasperation, but could not be now.

“Every time I tried to talk to you, you got angry with me.”

“Every time you tried to talk to me, you were drunk,” she laughed.

“I needed courage, forgive me,” he winked, then lost his balance and stumbled again. 

She helped him back up. “You’re still drunk,” she laughed. “Probably too drunk,” she added pointedly.

“Not too drunk,” he insisted, lunging at her again as long as he had her still, missed, and nearly fell again. 

She shook her head, not sure whether she found him adorable or frustrating beyond words at this moment. As usual, she decided it was both. “Come on. We’re not far.”

They fell back into a warm silence, their fingers reaching for each other again, neither minding the cold night air that tried to come between them. She did not want to say anything more. She was afraid of breaking the spell. Suddenly she felt what was passing between her and Barnabas was a fragile thing that could disappear as easily has it had appeared. She knew there were questions she should ask, things that should be different, before they were to move forward. She should ask him, what does this mean? He should sober up. She thought, they should have left it back at Collinwood, and picked it up another night. What was the rush? He was being as impulsive as always and she was out of her mind.

Her cursed good sense made one last effort as they saw the front door to the Old House. She began to panic--what was this madness? She had to know. More in control of her faculties and movements than Barnabas, she disentangled herself from his hold and got a few steps ahead of him, stopping at the front door and backing into it, blocking his entrance. As he approached her, grinning, she put both hands lightly on his stomach to stop him, trying her best to maintain a serious expression.

“Barnabas--I need to know just one thing…”

In response to the slightest forward pressure from him, her arms gave out, encircling his waist helplessly. He cupped both sides of her face in his large hands, kissing her teasingly, lips moving to rest elsewhere on her face the moment she tried to respond, his hands drifting down her neck, across her shoulders, down her sides, down, down… “What, Julia? What do you need to know?” He kissed her again, full on the mouth, his hands coming to rest on her hips, pinning her against the door.

She gave it a split-second of consideration and found she no longer cared. The hell with good sense. “Forget it,” she breathed into his mouth, not stopping their kisses for anything now. “Oh, Barnabas…”

His hands released their hold on her hips, traveling slowly back up the length of her sides, slipping in between her coat to feel her more directly, moaning at the realization that only a thin layer of chiffon stood between him and what he desired. He held her in place now with the full force of his body, pressing into her hard. She gasped as she felt him already growing with desire against her leg. She opened her mouth to him hungrily, needing to feel some part of him exploring within her. One hand reached for her breast, caressing and rubbing through the fabric until she cried out softly, the other hand circling her waist, drawing her still closer to him, to feel his need growing stronger still. 

“Oh, Julia,” he threw both arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder, kissing her neck, whispering in her ear, “I want you… I need you…”

She waited for, willed him to say it: I love you.  
He did not. 

She threw her head back against the door, exposing her neck to him, which he fervently devoted all his attention to; she put the question out of her head. Did she care? They were here, this way, together, now; didn’t it speak for itself?


	9. Chapter 9

Shaking off the cold, they entered the Old House and eyed each other nervously. It felt completely different on this side of the door: more real, less safe. She had no thought of backing down now, though, not for anything.

She unbuttoned her coat, watching him carefully. He had backed into the door, slightly slouched against it. At first she assumed he was expecting her to pounce on him, reversing the position they had struck on the other side of the door, but quickly she realized he looked pained, almost sick. He tried to smile at her seductively, his eyes imploring her to continue, but his mouth turned into a concerning sort of half-grimace.

“Barnabas,” she approached him, her eyes filled with worry, her fingertips just brushing his stomach. “Are you feeling all right?”

He gave an embarrassed sort of chuckle. “Right before I came out to the terrace to find you, I drank two more cups of that damned punch. I think they’re just starting to hit me fully.”

She shook her head in dismay. “How many did you have altogether?”

“Oh… I have no idea. Enough.”

“I’ll say.” She was in doctor mode now, gauging his temperature with a hand to his forehead, checking his pulse, trying to get a sense of his respiratory rate. She judged he was not at risk of alcohol poisoning, but clearly his system was not used to this much liquor. “Do you feel sick?”

“No,” he shook his head earnestly. “I feel fine.” He did look a little less green now. He took advantage of her proximity to pull her close against him again. He slid her coat off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She relaxed in his embrace, one hand sliding easily around his waist, the other, which had been taking his temperature, forgot its professional function and began to play with the hair that fell over his forehead, then caressed his cheek with the back of its knuckles. She gazed into his eyes with adoration, and saw the look returned to her. 

“Oh, Barnabas…” She initiated another kiss, her hand circling the back of his neck, kneading his skin gently. He was slower to respond than before, but no less enthusiastic. As he molded her to his body again, pulling her closer, she determined his original erection had faded, but he was slowly becoming hard again. She smiled into his lips, deepening the kiss, encouraged to feel for herself the effect she had upon him. She pulled back just enough to push his coat off his shoulders and he, after a moment, got the idea and let his arms fall dumbly to his sides to allow his coat to fall next to hers on the floor. He made to embrace her again, but she pushed his arms back against the door, never breaking their increasingly frantic kiss, laughing into his mouth now. She took the opportunity to unbutton his jacket and remove it, too. She had started on the vest when he protested, taking her slim wrists in his hands to still her, whispering, “Upstairs. Let’s go upstairs.”

She nodded, taking his hand, and leading the way up the steps, without a moment’s hesitation. He walked a step behind, as a gentleman should, one hand lightly at her elbow to guide her by habit. But ungentlemanly, he kept taking a step too quickly and collided into her, laughing, almost sending them both to the ground at one point. Barnabas was able to steady himself only by leaning forward onto her, his hand landing on her ass, where it stayed, longer than was strictly necessary, until they reached the top of the stairs. There he wrapped one arm low around her waist again, pausing to kiss her forehead, then half-steered her, half-leaned on her to the end of the hallway, to his bedroom. 

Once through this door, they felt altogether different again, the sight of his bed giving the moment a new sense of immediacy. Almost in a frenzy, they tore at each other’s clothes, desperate to feel each other’s bodies even closer. In his half-stupor, he touched her roughly, clumsily, his actions lacking rhyme and reason in a way that excited her. Julia worked at the buttons on his vest and shirt while he unfastened his cuff links and belt, tossing all carelessly to the floor. He grinned at her when she stopped him from unbuttoning his pants with a hand placed firmly over his own: no, that part would be for her. Graciously, he instead thrust off his shirt and vest, and pulled his undershirt over his head, with a helpful tug from Julia.

She sighed happily to see his chest exposed to her, burying her face against it and placing loving kisses all over it while he fumbled with her back zipper. As his doctor of many years, this was not an altogether new sight, but it was new to finally be able to gaze at his naked flesh with undisguised lust, to kiss it and touch it as her desires demanded. Her desires were now demanding she follow a line straight down the center line of his chest, to his flat stomach, down, down, finding the few soft dark hairs on his otherwise smooth torso. She felt his growing need for her against her chest, her collarbone, her throat as she moved downward, pulling her down almost magnetically. 

Barnabas was struggling enough with her zipper when she was still, however, and was considerably frustrated in his attempts as she moved, finally pulling her back up by her shoulders and turning her around to face the bed, the force of his movement sending her half onto the bed, bracing herself with her elbows. She looked back at him, over her shoulder, seeing on his face a look of utter concentration and absorption in the task at hand. She buried her face in the quilt, her ass rubbing against and teasing his erection. He fell on top of her to find the zipper, his breath hot against the back of her neck, his body just barely grazing hers. He located and pulled the zipper down slowly, his cheeks and lips still caressing her upper back, allowing his full body to cover hers, while his free hand followed the progress of the zipper, sliding under her dress to feel her skin through the flimsy silk slip she wore underneath. When the zipper was completely undone, he allowed his entire weight to rest on her, pinning her to the mattress, his erection hard against her. She moaned softly. He rested his head against the back of her neck for a moment, whispering her name.

With what little room for movement she had, she moved her body against him, trying to excite him again, feeling him going soft. His kisses at her neck slowed and then stopped, too. “Barnabas?” she questioned softly. All at once, she heard him issue a single loud snore and felt his body jerk back to life. “Barnabas!” Somehow she wriggled halfway free and pushed him the rest of the way off her, onto his side. He looked bewildered. She shoved him lightly. “You fell asleep?”

“Did I?” He blinked rapidly, looking around the room, and at each of their bodies, to regain a sense of how far things had progressed. “Only for a second.”

“You snored!” She curled up closer to him, draping one leg over his. “Perhaps we’d better continue this another time.”

“Not a chance.” He kissed her lingeringly, then gently pushed her leg away, stood, and pulled her up to sit on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward to kiss the length of her collarbone as he peeled her unzipped dress from her shoulders, slowly sliding it down her arms and to her waist. Pulling back to watch her reaction, he traced the neckline of her slip with one finger, lightly, then followed the outline of each breast with the same finger, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from her. He took each breast in his hands, cupping them, teasing her nipples with his thumbs through the fabric, gently kneading them. His hands continued back to rest at her sides, and pulled her up to stand in front of him, the rest of her dress falling to her feet. She stepped out of it, and slightly away from him, allowing him full view of her trim figure, only the sheer fabric of her cream-colored slip between them now.

She stepped forward again, one hand going straight for his crotch, and finding him again back at square one. “What are we going to do with you?” she teased.

“I’m sorry, Julia--this is the last problem I expected to have,” he said, mortified. But he was already responding to her touch.

“It’s not you--it’s the alcohol. It’s quite common. Can’t be helped, really, as much as you’ve had.” Satisfied at his response, she released him and began to unbutton his pants for better access. “Unfortunately.”

“Oh, Julia,” he moaned, as she touched him now more directly through his silk boxers. “Oh, god, Julia, please don’t doubt what you do to me.”

His arousal was causing hers to grow exponentially. She wanted him now and she didn’t know how much longer he could last. “Then show me,” she whispered raspily in his ear.

Needing no further encouragement, Barnabas backed her into the bed again and pushed her onto it. She inched back to the head of the bed, then reached out for him to join her. He was on her in a flash, settling between her legs, which she wrapped around him, coaxing him still closer. He devoured her mouth with kisses, insistent at first, becoming ever more languid as his attention dispersed to what his hands were doing, where hers were, the state of his erection, the signs of her readiness… He backed off from her lips, kissing along her jawline, her throat, her neck, her earlobe, his lips, tongue and teeth, combined with the pressure of his body on hers, nearly driving her wild with need. 

“Barnabas…” she whispered, “I need you now, Barnabas…” Receiving no answer, verbal or nonverbal, she pulled herself back to look at his face and found he had drifted to sleep again. “Barnabas!” She tapped his face lightly with her fingertips, hoping to snap him back into consciousness. He registered no response. This time, he had completely passed out.

With all her strength, she pushed him off her and onto his back beside her. He didn’t so much as twitch, despite the violence of the motion. She sat up, frozen in the shock and indignation she warred with herself about feeling--the doctor in her calmly noting that this was unavoidable, the woman in her mortified to be abandoned this way. She stared at him for long moments. Now what? She couldn’t help but feel utterly ridiculous, ravished, used. Here she was, closer than ever to the man she loved, and she had never felt so utterly alone in her life.

She considered that she probably should leave, but she realized she was exhausted, too, glancing at the clock on the mantel and seeing it was well after one o’clock; it had been a long, stressful, unpredictable day, and if she was honest she felt the effects of a more modest intake of that damned punch herself. To hell with her embarrassment and however he would feel in the morning, she thought, curling up on her side, facing away from him. The damage was already done; she might as well sleep here. Although miserable, although her mind raced, her fatigue overwhelmed her, and she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.


	10. Chapter 10

When Julia awoke the next morning, he was still asleep beside her. Sometime in the course of the night, she had turned onto her other side to face him. She scowled at this minor betrayal of her heart and body to her head. But that was nothing, she reflected, to the self-betrayal of last night, each moment coming back to her one by one. If she was upset, it was with herself much more than Barnabas. She could have stopped it long before it had reached that mortifying conclusion, but at every red flag she had chosen to go on. Just as she always did.

She chose to go on even now, thinking she had better leave, but doing nothing about it. She couldn’t have left without disturbing him, anyhow, no matter how soundly he slept. Sometime in the course of the night, too, he had rolled closer to her, and imposed one leg over her own, one arm about her waist. That had been his doing, she admitted, but she wouldn’t allow herself to believe it had anything necessarily to do with her. He was drawn to a warm body in his bed, that was all. She couldn’t allow herself to believe in more than that again, for her sanity, for their friendship.

But could it be, could he…? She stopped herself from completing the thoughts she knew would so easily run away with her. She forced herself to assess the situation truthfully. Searching her memory for any words he might have said the night before to confirm what she wanted to think, she found none. He had been drunk, and lonely, and he was far too accustomed to taking advantage of her. She was far too willing to give in to him. She had wanted it too much, for too long. She had almost allowed herself to believe. And although she wanted to think this was the final humiliation she would endure from this man, she knew she would never really be free. The best she could hope for was to put everything back as it had been, so she could go on to endure it again. 

She would have to wait there until he awoke, and force him to talk about it, no matter his reaction; if they didn’t put things right immediately, she knew they never would. Resolved and resigned to that, she decided there was no real harm in enjoying this until that difficult moment, when everything would change again. Not to give in to the illusion that it meant anything, but to simply enjoy it. She stared at him and smiled. He was so handsome. And she felt warm and protected to be even half in his arms. She tried to commit the sight of him, the feel of him, to memory. Soon enough, she would let all this go, but she would keep the memory.

She had no idea how long she lay there happily watching him before he began to stir, then yawn. His leg slid off hers, his arm about her waist reached toward the headboard in a full-body stretch. That was just as well; he need not know just how closely they had slept. She reached down to pull the sheet around her where his movement had displaced it. Finally he opened his eyes.

He looked confused only for a moment; then his eyes focused on hers, and he smiled groggily. “Good morning,” he croaked, then cleared his throat.

She felt suddenly uncomfortable lying beside him, staring into his eyes, a mere foot away. “Good morning,” she returned, as evenly as she could manage, raising herself up to a sitting position, her back against the headboard, gathering as much of the sheet as she could carefully about her. She looked down at him with a kind but, she hoped, composed smile. “How do you feel? Are you hung over?”

“No, I feel fine. Surprisingly enough.” He rubbed his eyes with both hands, then raised himself up on one elbow. “I woke up in the middle of the night, sick. But I’m much better now.”

She gazed back at him with undisguised concern, both medical and personal. “Oh, you should have woken me if you were sick--I had no idea.”

“There was nothing for you to do. And you were sleeping so peacefully.”

If Barnabas had awoken in the middle of the night--she couldn’t stop the thought she had only minutes ago resolved not to entertain--could he have known, could he have intentionally settled closer to her when he came back to bed; could he have meant to embrace just as she had awoken to find?

“Happy new year, by the way,” he smiled up at her.

She couldn’t understand his attitude this morning. He was talking to her just as he would have if he had run into her at Collinwood--fully clothed and standing up, what’s more. Embarrassment or confusion or even anger or resentment she could understand, but this? He was being shockingly casual about it. If he was trying to get away without discussing it, she would not allow it.

“Barnabas,” she said, her voice rising higher than her natural pitch, to her annoyance, “don’t you think there’s anything strange about this?”

“About what?” he asked. He did not seem to be playing with her, but how could he ask such a question?

“About waking up to find me in your bed, Barnabas!” She could not hide her exasperation.

“No, not strange,” he mused. “Unusual, perhaps.”

“Unprecedented!” She shook her head, provoked. “Barnabas, how much of last night do you remember?”

“All of it, I think.”

“And how much of it do you regret?”

He appeared to think about it seriously. He certainly was not playing a game with her. He gave her that heavy-lidded earnest look that accompanied all of his weighty proclamations and said gravely, “All of it.”

Horrified, her body jerked forward involuntarily, unable to bolt altogether, but needing not to see him. She hugged her knees, feeling numb, unreal. Why had it wounded her so deeply to hear him say it? That was just how she thought he would feel. But to hear it so plainly--she thought she would have to twist his arm force him to speak the truth, and still he would not have said it in so many words. She thought he would struggle to find just the right tactful let-down, and stop explaining only when his conscience was satisfied. She hardly knew how to deal with the blunt truth of his feelings. She wished she had the energy to run. She wished she had the ability to disappear.

“No, no, no…” His voice was strained; his arms were around her in comfort in a flash. “Oh, Julia, that’s not what I meant at all. I’m still doing this all wrong, and I don’t even have Roger’s punch to blame now.”

She forced herself to look at him, afraid of what she would find. The look in his eyes matched the soft, anxious tone of his voice. She trusted him just enough to want to know, “What did you mean, then?”

“I don’t regret what happened last night, not what we said or what we did,” he said firmly. He squeezed her shoulder gently, reassuringly. “I only regret how it happened. You deserve better than last night. You deserve better than this.” His head dropped, slipping so easily into his place of self-loathing. He leaned his forehead against her other, closer shoulder, as if trying to press into her skin what he couldn’t say in words.

“I don’t care about what I deserve. Not if--“ She couldn’t bring herself to voice what she hoped, what he seemed to be saying. She couldn’t really believe it, and couldn’t risk yet another heartbreak, not yet. “Oh, Barnabas, what are you doing?”

“Don’t you know, Julia?” He lifted his head to look at her again, their faces much closer than before. “Oh, I do regret so much. I regret everything I’ve done to make you feel alone, unwanted, unloved. Everything I’ve done to make you doubt yourself. Did you really doubt what happened between us last night?”

“I wasn’t sure if…” She trailed off, looking away. But she forced herself to look at him, say what she felt, meet him halfway. They would never get through this if they didn’t both confront it, come what may. “Yes, I did doubt it. I thought perhaps you were just drunk, lonely, caught up in the moment.”

“I was all of those things, but I felt that way, got that way, because of you.”

“I don’t understand.” She needed him to tell her simply, straightforwardly, where he stood at long last. Her eyes pleaded with him to finally say what he meant.

“You wondered if I wanted you last night because I’ve been alone for so long, didn’t you? That isn’t it, Julia. It’s just the opposite. I’ve been alone for so long because I wanted you. Just you.”

That was as clear an answer as she was ever going to get from him. “Barnabas--if you felt that way, why didn’t you tell me? You must have known how I felt. That I would want to be with you--“

“I thought so, but I couldn’t take that for granted at all. Oh, I wanted to tell you, so many times. I always lost my nerve, thinking, well, we’re having a fine time as we are. You can tell her tomorrow. Night after night I told myself I would tell you tomorrow. There were an awful lot of tomorrows.”

She shook her head slowly, catching her breath for the first time in long minutes, believing and yet not believing. She leaned her forehead against his. “How long, Barnabas?” she asked softly.

“All along, maybe. I never really understood my attachment to you, so I buried the question. The other women… I understood that. That’s what I thought love was. But once I recognized how I felt about you, recognized it as what love really could be, I understood that that was what I had decided to bury all this time. I know it’s no good to rewrite history. I wasn’t always good to you, but underneath it all… Anyhow, I’ve really known it for months, I suppose. Perhaps a year.”

She turned to face him more directly, dropping her knees to the bed. He scooped her into his arms, both hands wrapped around her back, pulling her tightly to him. 

“And in all that time--?” she could barely whisper, overwhelmed to feel his arms around her again, unmistakably wanting to hold only her.

“I know. I’ve wasted so much time.” He pulled back just far enough to make eye contact again, looking at her sadly. He was wracked with guilt and regret--she wanted to take all that away from him. 

She shook her head, and took his face in both her hands. “It wasn’t a waste. We’ve been together, haven’t we?”

“Yes--and you must have felt the change in me a little, didn’t you?”

“I suppose so,” she smiled, looking at everything in a new light. “Things have been different in the last few months. But I never guessed…”

“I am so sorry, Julia.” He was still not letting go his regrets. It was as hard for him as letting go of her uncertainty was for her.

“Why do you say that?” She looked at him deeply, shaking her head again.

“It was cruel of me. Every night I told myself to leave it alone, that we were having a fine enough time, I didn’t realize how I was confusing you, and making you doubt yourself. It was almost more cruel these last months than in all those years of ignoring you--I see that now. Please allow me to make it up to you, if I can.”

“By all means,” she beamed at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Julia, I love you,” he confessed at last.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, kissing him softly.


	11. Chapter 11

She pulled away slightly just as he had placed one hand behind her head, urging her closer, wanting to deepen the kiss. She knew very well that they would cross the point of no return quite quickly if they continued, and this time she had to be sure. She couldn’t afford to fool herself again. In his eyes she saw the love, the need, the desire for her she had always hoped, but little expected, to see reflected back at her. It was the same look he had given her for the first time, undisguised, last night, but now there was no questioning his sincerity, or his fitness.

He took her face in both his hands and pressed her forehead to his own. He seemed equally aware of the precarious position they were in, physically as well as emotionally. It was a difficult line to cross after all this time. They would have to cross it together. “We can slow down, if you think we should,” he said gently. “There’s no need to rush this, now.”

“There’s no need to wait or doubt, either.” Her lips grazed his cheek as she slowly made her way to his ear, lightly nibbling at his earlobe before whispering seductively, “Take it as slow as you like, but don’t you dare stop.”

A low kind of growl escaped his throat as he responded to her words, taking her completely in his arms, planting his lips on hers again. She leaned her upper body in close, her hands wrapped around his neck and gently caressing his skin. It was altogether different to kiss him now, both sober and sure in the clear morning light, more deliberate, more fully engaged, their trust in one another now complete. 

Her legs curled in front of her, her thin slip, and the robe he must have put on in the middle of the night were all that stood between them now, and he clearly chafed at all of them. He dropped one hand from her back to follow the line of her figure down her side, to her hip, across the length of her thigh, the full open palm coming to rest on one knee. As their kissing became more intense--he the more desperate; she, sensing this, playing with him, teasing him--he applied more pressure to that knee, lightly encouraging it to move out of the way to allow him to press closer to her. 

“Julia--“ he pleaded, seeming half-mad with desire. She laughed throatily; she could go on like this for a while. She moved both of her hands down to his hips, pulling at him lightly to come closer, to be the one to give. He picked up her cue readily, placing one bent leg on either side of her body, pressing against her gently. 

As he inched as close to her as he could, her knees slipped beneath his robe and felt him hard against them, unmistakable bare skin against skin. She gasped, looking up at him in surprise; now he was the one to laugh, taking control momentarily of the evolving game between them. All at once she understood with absolute certainty that he had come back to bed last night after dropping his boxers and putting on the robe, stark naked underneath, settled in close to her, enveloped her with his legs and arms, drawing her close…

Her arousal deepened at this realization, and she gave up the space her legs had put between them, throwing them across his hips, her knees now digging into his sides. They both groaned as they felt his swollen length press against her body, only thin layers of fabric separating them. 

“Please, Julia,” he begged her again between frantic kisses, one hand drifting back to her thigh, easily sliding under her slip and caressing the soft skin beneath, straying toward her center. He exhaled almost painfully as he realized she, too, wore nothing more underneath. The angle was awkward, but one timid finger found its way to her opening and inside of her. She cried out in unexpected pleasure, which he swallowed up in his kiss. “Please, what can I do--to--“

She understood him. She shook her head slightly, not wanting to break his hold on her lips. She didn’t want to let him escape her embrace, either. “Barnabas, you drive me crazy. I’m more than ready for you.”

Her words, evidently so much more frank than he had anticipated, had an overpowering effect on him, his hips bucking forward suddenly. They both saw that despite the slow pace they both wanted to set, they would lose control of themselves quickly. He removed his finger from inside her and found the hem of her slip again. His hands stroking her the whole way up, he impatiently pulled the undergarment up her thin frame and over her head, throwing it to the floor. She shivered momentarily, but was soon warmed under his firm hands and strong embrace. Not missing a beat, she tugged at the belt of his robe, pushing it off his shoulders and legs. It fell behind him on the bed. 

They each regarded one another, fully naked, for long moments in between kisses. Both smiled shamelessly with unguarded lust and appreciation. They had not spent so many years so close without acquiring some intimate knowledge of one another, but the sight and feel entire was something altogether new. Having seen enough for now, they pressed their bodies tightly together, edging still closer. She was sitting on top of him now, rubbing herself against him. She knew at just what angle she could take him in and for the moment avoided it, savoring the feeling of him against her, reveling in his excitement at being teased this way. She kissed him deeply, again, allowing his tongue to thrust hard into her mouth in a faint but necessary approximation of what his cock was straining to do. She moaned, losing herself in his oral assault, grasping at him ever more tightly, still rocking gently against him. Hardly realizing it until it had happened, he found her opening. He was barely inside of her when both gasped in surprise, breaking away to lock their eyes on one another for the first time in long minutes, almost breaking under the intensity of it. They pressed their foreheads against one another again, deciding together. With their breath held, she lifted herself slightly, supporting herself with her arms around his shoulders, and with a long, slow thrust he was fully inside of her.

She settled back down to the bed, clasping him tightly with her arms and legs around him, burying her face in his neck. He pushed deeper, deeper into her, and she held him there tightly, neither moving except pressing to be closer, unwilling to accept the physical limitations of space and matter. She cried out, the sound muffled against his skin, as he reached the limit of his reach, the sensation of his balls against her skin, his blood pumping through his veins inside her nearly overwhelming her. She clawed at his shoulders. He exhaled heavily, too, her name breathless on his lips.

Their position offered little room for motion, but lightly, gently, he began to explore inside of her, shallow thrusts pushing deeper and deeper. She sighed at the recognition of a new wave of pleasure at his every movement, and at every time her racing thoughts landed on the newly concrete realization that this man, this man she had so wanted and so little hoped to have did want her, too; did love her; was having her right now; was inside of her right now; was right now driving her mad with every little touch and stirring; was now hers, entirely hers. 

Finally unable to take his unbelievably erotic slow tempo any longer, she rose up on her knees, straddling him, her body still pressed tightly against him. At her full height, her breasts were level with his face, and he took one hungrily into his mouth, assaulting it with his tongue and teeth, one hand massaging the other breast thoroughly, while the other supported her at the waist, pushing her close against him when she nearly buckled from the pleasure, straying from the small of her back to her ass when she was steady. 

Needing to feel him inside her again, she slowly lowered herself onto him, kissing him deeply before bracing herself against his strong shoulders. With this leverage, she could fully control the speed and depth of their entwining, starting slow, then uncontrollably wanting him more, faster; backing off when she feared it could easily end too quickly. He was clearly surprised and aroused by her assertiveness. Surprised, yes, but she took no offense at it this time; he was happily surprised; it drove him crazy; she ground against him harder than she intended to as it became clear to her he had never been with anyone who had taken control this way. He thrust up into her instinctively, but with a warning hand to his chest and a devilish smile, she indicated that he was not to. She didn’t want to think of the others now, but it didn’t bother her as for a moment the thought glanced across her mind: everything before her must have been furtive experiences with passive lovers. He’d had no idea it could be like this, except perhaps in filling long empty nights with fantasy, as it had largely been with her; there was much they could experience for the first time together. Her pace quickened as she really understood what she was doing to him, and he could not help but respond, thrusting again against her, harder and faster, now uncontrollably out of sync with her own movements.

In mock annoyance, she pushed him back hard against the mattress, which he acquiesced to with a ready grin. He stroked her up and down as she began to ride him with greater abandon, touching her breasts, her stomach, her sides, finally grasping her hips: if she would not allow him to push inside of her, he would try to guide her harder up and down the length of him. She accepted his assistance, now throwing her head back in complete inattention to anything but the feeling of him, now stroking his chest and abdomen lovingly as she watched him strain and groan under her.

He took her hands in his, interlacing their fingers, locking on her eyes again, that same intensity almost sending them both over the edge again. “Come here,” he mouthed at her, almost unable to speak. She smirked, but assented, slowing her movements as she bent to hover over him, her stomach barely grazing his, her breasts settling on his chest, her lips a tantalizing distance from his.

“What is it, my love?” She ran one hand through his hair and across his sweat-drenched brow.

“Julia,” he whispered hoarsely, “are you--“

“What, darling?” she teased him, knowing, but wanting to hear it. She ground herself against him again in encouragement, eliciting moans from them both.

“Are you very close?” he eked out.

“Yes, love,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his but not quite giving in to a kiss.

His hands gripped both of her upper arms and he gave her a deep and gravely serious look. “Let me--…” He trailed off helplessly, overwhelmed by her.

“Let you what?” she pressed him, enjoying his delicious discomfort.

“Oh…” He groaned as she prodded him on with another deep thrust of her hips, then settling even closer against his skin.

“Are there still things you cannot say to me?” she teased him, then whispered into his ear, “That will never do.”

“Julia,” he cried, pushed to the breaking point, “let me give you the pleasure you deserve.”

She kissed him thoroughly, a sort of laugh quickly turning into a helpless moan of desire, happier than she had ever imagined possible, despite the prodigiousness of her imagination. “That’s what I want, Barnabas.”

He grunted involuntarily as he turned her onto her back, easily settling between her legs and into her arms, sliding into her again. They merged as if made for one another. Again he gave her one long, slow push so she could feel his considerable length filling her completely. She arched her back and stretched her neck in response, his hands finding the curve of her back, his lips the delicate flesh of her neck. He took his time, feeling her enveloping him, her arms hugging him tight, her legs clasped about him crossed at the ankle, her heels digging into his ass, pushing him deeper, taking him in completely. 

“I love you, Julia,” he said, gazing deep into her eyes as he began to drive into her. “Oh god, how I love you.”

His words did as much for her as his movements, which were steadily gaining in intensity. She moaned from deep within in response to both. Almost breathless, she clutched him closer to her, her hands in his hair as she swore, “Oh, Barnabas, I love you, too…”

Her words affected him equally, and the sight of her under him, one moment gazing steadily at him with obvious adoration, the next lost in a world of her own pleasure of his doing, the truth of it after the pale imagining of it for so long building his desire, the knowledge that she had waited for him so much longer still prodding him on, as he pushed against her ever more insistently, matched by her equal desire and twin movement, needing this now lest he be driven mad, wanting this for her, his beloved Julia who had sacrificed everything for him, and would do it again, even living with no hope for this reciprocation, but having found it it, oh what it did to her, what she did to him…

Losing all sync with the other, then all control of themselves, all the while intensely focused on one another, first Julia then Barnabas lost themselves entirely in the other, her body giving in sooner and stronger than she expected as she cried out in a fulfillment more deep and real than she had ever imagined; the sight, sound, and feeling of her ecstasy sent Barnabas tumbling after her, his pleasure accomplished in her pleasure, his need satisfied by the satisfaction of her need. Their bodies shook and throbbed as they found the release they had so long ached for in each other’s arms.


	12. Chapter 12

They clung to one another for long, breathless moments, slowly coming back to their immediate reality and finding satisfaction anew in each other’s arms: a sharper awareness of and a clearer connection to each other. He kissed her softly, savoring the taste and feel of her now that he was utterly contented. She continued to stroke his back and hold him to her, not desperately as before, but still needing to feel him inside of her as long as possible. He shifted gently, barely pressing into her again, enjoying her warmth even now that the tremors had subsided for them both. She sighed from deep within, as to expel every long-buried hurt and doubt and resentment, to make a place for this new healing love.

When at last he pulled away, he turned her onto her side and faced her, holding her close, kissing her lightly, intermittently, their legs tangling, their hands roaming in gentle caresses as they pleased. 

“I love you, Julia,” he whispered, smiling broadly; once he had said it, he seemed unable to stop. “So much more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. How blind and stupid I’ve been. But you--oh, Julia, how could you ever doubt that I loved you?”

She shook her head, laughing lightly; she supposed she would always have to endure these small romantic fancies of his. But it was much easier to endure, she noted, when directed at her. “Well, you’ve fairly well convinced me now,” she said, her hand meaningfully wandering between his legs, “but this was a first, Barnabas. You’ve never given me an indication without then immediately running after some little girl.”

He cringed at this, but persisted. “Even last night? Even this morning? Didn’t you really know? I did ask you to the party.”

“You ask me to go everywhere with you! It never meant anything before.” Her words were a challenge, but her voice held no trace of bitterness. It could amuse her now, how truly little he understood. 

“I’ve realized finally that it did mean something, Julia. I’ve always needed you: your help, and your counsel, and your company. I didn’t know what it meant. It had always made me a little nervous, the way I felt, the little moments that sometimes passed between us. But I didn’t really have a quiet moment to consider it until lately. Now, I do know that I haven’t been able to do anything, go anywhere, without you, for a very long time.”

“You’re right about that! I’ve been to 1840 and back for you, Barnabas,” she laughed into his shoulder.

He became serious. “Don’t think I don’t know just what that means--and that you are the only woman in this world, in this time or any other, who would. And I know I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey--stop that,” she chided him gently. “I told you I don’t care what I deserve. If what I deserve isn’t you, I don’t want it.”

“You’re as hopeless as I am--thank god. Thank god you never really gave up on me.” He sought her lips again, kissing her firmly.

After long moments, she pushed him away playfully. “Enough of that for now. We’ve got to get out of bed.”

As she started to sit up, he made to pull her down next to him again. “Why must we?”

She resisted, smiling back at him. “It’s no good to start a new year this lazily.”

“Who says we have to be lazy?” He raised his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“Oh, no. Think of it this way: we get up now, we can relish the thought of coming back to bed all day.”

“And I will.”

She couldn’t hide a self-satisfied smirk at this. “I’m not done with you yet, Barnabas Collins.”

“I should hope not.” He rose to sit next to her, embracing her and nuzzling her shoulder.

“Besides, the way we left last night… I suppose we owe everyone an explanation. We might as well get that over with,” she winced slightly, picturing the awkward scene that would ensue at Collinwood.

“It’s going to be much worse for me, if that comforts you. I will certainly bear the brunt of the ‘What took you so long?’ commentary.”

“That does comfort me, yes, thank you,” she teased him. Then she searched his eyes, questioning, “So you do want to tell everyone?”

“I’m through keeping my feelings for you a secret.” 

He smiled at her reassuringly; he seemed to be biting his tongue to hold back yet another guilt-ridden apology for making her wonder. She silently resolved to fight back her doubts, in turn; there was no need for them. This might be difficult for them both, she reflected; everything would not be perfect and easy; but what of value ever was? 

“Oh, Barnabas,” she sighed happily, leaning her head against his shoulder. She allowed herself another few moments to enjoy the warmth of his embrace before pulling away definitely and saying, “All right. Let’s get up, and face the music.”

They began gathering their hastily scattered garments. Suddenly Barnabas laughed and said, “You know, Julia, I think facing the family might be just as hard for you, after all.”

“Why do you say that?” She stopped, shooting him a nervous look.

“You’re the one who will be returning in your party dress.”

She picked up the dress, looking at it with a bemused expression. “Well, it might save us the trouble of explaining ourselves in so many words. And for good measure, you ripped it, too. See?” She held it out to him, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, so I did,” he smiled as he approached to inspect the damage. “I apologize. But as you say, it may break the ice nicely. What an optimist you are.” He kissed her lightly, then met her gaze levelly. “I suppose you’d have to be, to go on with me for as long as you have.”

She brushed aside the hair on his forehead, meeting his gaze. “You’re worth waiting for, Barnabas. I’d wait my whole life.”

“I would think you crazy, but I know it’s the same for me. If all my trials and tragedies were necessary to bring me to you, if I had to live two hundred years to get to you, it was worth it. I would do it all again. This is the time and the place I belong. And you are the woman I belong with. I will love you forever.”

“And I you, Barnabas.” She sighed happily. “I can safely say that’s the nicest start to a new year I’ve ever had.”

“To a new life,” he added.

And, sealing it with a kiss, they embraced this new resolution, and embarked upon their new life, together.


End file.
